


There's Nothing In Our Way That Can't Be Moved

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Reflection, Self-Reflection, Song: We Made It (Louis Tomlinson), Songfic, Tumblr: wallsficfest (One Direction)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: They made it. One Direction made it. Louis and Harry made it. Louis' childhood friends made it.Louismade it. They all made it.Louis looks around at them, at these people who have played such a huge role in shaping him into who he is, in making him feel comfortable in his own skin, and he raises his bottle.“A toast,” he says. “To us. To proving the doubters wrong. To building the lives we didn’t know we were allowed to want. To pushing through everything the world threw at us. To us.”
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Zayn Malik & Liam Payne & Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Walls Fic Fest





	There's Nothing In Our Way That Can't Be Moved

**Author's Note:**

> So you know how Louis has said that "We Made It" is about the fans and also has said it's about his friends and ALSO has said it's about his partner...
> 
> I said yes to all of the above. Cause they _all_ made it. They were all underestimated, they all saw hard times, but they all kept going and _they made it_ and I'm so fucking proud. And you know Louis is too.
> 
> Title from "I Got You" by Cimorelli.

_Cause we made it…_

Louis looks out on a sea of people, so many they seem to blend together. There are hundreds of signs, thousands of phones, tens of thousands of faces, all pointed at him and the four boys who have become his second family. All these people are here for _them._

He could never have imagined this when he first auditioned for _The X-Factor_. Oh, he dreamed of success, of world tours, but even in his wildest fantasies -- he had no idea what it would really feel like to stand on a stage in the middle of a stadium, the roar of the crowd ringing in his ears and the music he helped write humming in his bones. 

He could never have imagined this when the band was first put together. When he was thrown in with a group of strangers and told -- these teenagers are your lifeline. These boys are your only chance at the dream of a lifetime. He remembers looking around at them, terrified and hopeful and uncertain, remembers clenching his fists and crossing his fingers and _praying_ that somehow, they would figure out how to pull together and make this work.

He could never _ever_ have imagined this when they lost. When they’d given it their heart and soul, when they’d seen the fan response (they had _fans,_ what the heck?), when they’d felt like it was all falling together and then -- it fell apart. They’d _lost._ They were _out._ The dream that had felt like it was at the tips of their fingers had suddenly been yanked away, and the ground under their feet with it. 

And yet, here they are. In spite of everything, here they are, on top of the world, in front of more people than Louis had ever seen in his life before. And it does seem like a different life sometimes, a different world, Before and After. The two are almost unrecognizable to each other some days, which is equal parts amazing and terrifying. They’ve come so far together.

Louis looks over to Liam, reading signs in the audience, smiling as brightly as the lights overhead. He remembers how Liam supported them, how he always took the hard jobs or the uncomfortable talking points in interviews, how he always pushed them to be more. He remembers late night songwriting sessions and early mornings running around music video sets, remembers nights out and nights in, remembers watching Liam be there for each of them when they need it.

He looks to Niall, guitar slung over his shoulder, blond hair pushed back from his face. He remembers the accent that has slowly softened, the musical talent that always made Louis feel a little more like they knew what they were doing. He remembers how Niall pushed through knee surgeries and foot casts, even on days when he really probably shouldn’t have had to, and he somehow did it with a smile. He remembers shared beers and the tightest, warmest hugs he’s ever felt.

He looks to Zayn, his smile quieter than the others, but his eyes just as bright as he waves to the furthest seats in the stadium. He remembers how it took Zayn a little longer to feel comfortable with the group, but once he did, he transformed from solitary and subdued to bright and affectionate. Zayn is sometimes overlooked because of his introverted nature, but Louis knows how insightful and empathetic he is. Zayn is the best listener Louis has ever met (except maybe for Jay), and he gives great advice, but he’s also always up for a bit of fun when Louis just wants to be distracted, be it clubbing or weed or art.

And then there’s Harry. Sweet, kind, funny, beautiful Harry, cracking terrible jokes and charming the pants off every random stranger in the audience like he’s known them his whole life. Louis wants to know Harry for his whole life. God, there are so many memories, so many moments of joy and laughter and excitement and _love_ , always love, and they get to make more every single day.

The music swells, and Louis lifts his microphone back to his mouth, feeling the song like a heartbeat. He hears Zayn’s voice soar into intricate riffs, Liam covering the falsetto harmonies as Niall holds down the base notes. And Harry’s voice joins with Louis’ on the melody, melding with each other like they were meant to be together. Like all of them were meant to be together.

In spite of everything, in spite of everyone who doubted them, in spite of the critics who said they were just a flash in the pan -- in spite of their own fears -- they’re here. They’re living their dream, fighting for their dream. And they’re winning.

_Cause we made it…_

Louis holds Harry’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Harry holds Louis’ hand like it’s the only thing keeping him on course. They hold onto each other like they’re the only thing they’re sure of. Some days, even that feels shaky.

But they don’t let go. 

Sometimes Louis can’t believe how far they’ve come, how much they’ve grown, how strong they’ve become. From two scared kids with a dream and a crush and stars in their eyes to two confident adults with a chart-topping music career and a dog and a dozen promise rings. From stolen kisses and whispered words and hidden touches to standing tall beside each other and singing their love for the world to see. 

He remembers the adults who told them that their feelings weren’t important, that their relationship was a liability, that _they_ were a liability. He remembers the way their parents had traded nervous glances, so happy for them and yet so worried for what would happen if -- when -- it all fell apart. He remembers lying awake at night, wondering if they were making a mistake, wondering if it was worth the risk.

He remembers feeling like he was holding his breath, waking up each day wondering if this would be the day it fell apart, until one day he woke up and realized it had been a year, and he was still more in love than ever. And then another year passed, and another, and another, and nothing changed. Well, everything changed; he grew up and Harry grew up and One Direction became a worldwide sensation, but nothing changed. Nothing changed about the way Louis’ breath caught whenever he looked at Harry, or in the way Harry’s eyes shone when he looked back. Nothing changed in the tenderness of Harry’s hands tracing the curve of Louis’ cheek, his neck, his back, his hip, and nothing changed in the way Louis felt his body come alive under that touch. Nothing that mattered changed. Everything else was just background noise.

There were times when it was hard. There were interviews where they couldn’t look at each other, shows where they couldn’t touch each other, trips where they couldn’t see each other for days. There were lies and rumours and photographs. There were fights, shouting and tears followed by silence that was somehow even worse. But they always came back. They always talked it out. They always made it work. 

They talked about walking away sometimes. Not from each other -- from this life. From the lies and the media and the scrutiny, from the pressure and the publicity. “I’d give it all up in a second,” Harry whispered to him one night, far away across the phone line. “If you asked me to. If you needed me to.”

“I know,” Louis whispered back across the ocean, his heart aching and mending in the same breath. “And you know I’d never ask it of you. Not when you love it so much.”

“I know,” Harry said with a sigh. “But I love you more. This job is meaningless without you. Promise me you’ll tell me if you ever doubt that.”

“Only if you’ll promise me the same thing,” Louis said. “You’re the only one whose opinion of my songs matters to me.”

“You know I love everything you write.”

Louis smiles remembering, the same way he smiled into the phone all those years ago. He’s never doubted Harry, and Harry’s grip on his hand has never faltered for an instant. They’ve never let anything shake them. They kept going, held strong, beyond what anyone ever expected.

They’ll always hold on.

_Cause we made it…_

Louis laughs, passing the blunt to Stan beside him and taking another swig from his beer. He leans back into the couch, feeling like he’s almost dissolving in it, the cushions old and worn and shapeless but still so comfortable in their all-enveloping way. He listens to the buzz of conversation around him, so easy and familiar even after so many years. 

He remembers sitting in a circle in basements or on bedroom floors with these same guys, a box of pizza open in the middle, passing around beer that was significantly cheaper and worse and more illicit than what they drink now. He almost misses that piss-quality beer. It tastes like childhood.

He looks around the circle at the other boys, now men, people he’s watched grow up and grow into themselves. These kids who he went to school with, goofed off with, got into trouble with -- now they’ve become so much more. Most of them have jobs, some of them have children, a few have even bought houses. It’s so strange to think of the idiots he pulled pranks on the teachers with being real, responsible, successful adults, but here they are. 

Of course, none of the others have become household names, faces that millions of strangers recognize if he so much as tries to walk to the grocery store. But it doesn’t matter. They’re happy with their lot, and he’s happy with his. They don’t treat him any different, except that he pays for the pizza more often than not. He doesn’t mind that. He’s grateful they let him.

There was an awkward period for a bit, where he was suddenly aware of how many of his secrets these boys held, and what a precious commodity those suddenly were. He still wanted to come back, missed them desperately, but he wasn’t sure where he stood and what was safe and who he could trust. He’d trusted them all before, trusted them completely, but then, there wasn’t so much money in it before. There wasn’t so much riding on his secrets staying safe. So for a long time he said nothing -- not that it would have mattered; if they’d wanted to, they already had more than enough to sell for a tidy sum and hang him out to dry in the process.

But nothing happened. They were patient, stuck by him, didn’t say a word, and in time, Louis began to breathe a little easier. He began to joke again, tell stories again, share the things that mattered again -- his job, his family, the band, Harry. At first, it felt like a confession, his breath tight in his lungs, but they just smiled and nodded and the conversation moved on and the story stayed there in the circle. And eventually, talking with them just felt normal and natural, just felt like beers with the guys, just felt like coming home.

They share their stories in return, stories about jobs and girlfriends, memories of uni life and hookups. It’s another place that had once felt foreign, a part of life that he had somehow skipped. When he visited his friends at uni, sometimes it felt like he was trying to play catch-up on those years, trying to figure out what he was missing out on. When they talk about unreasonable managers and demanding customers and lunch breaks, he almost laughs. But somehow, they never make him feel anything less than welcome. And he can’t feel anything less than proud of what they’ve accomplished. 

“Look at us,” he says suddenly, gesturing with his drink. “A buncha nothing kids, all grown up and taking on the world.”

“Fuck yeah,” says Drew, tipping his own drink in Louis’ direction. “Shows what that fucker of a geography teacher knew. Who gives a shit about sedimentary rock anyways?”

Everyone laughs, a feeling of warm contentment washing through the group. Louis looks around at them, at these people who have played such a huge role in shaping him into who he is, in making him feel comfortable in his own skin, and he raises his bottle.

“A toast,” he says. “To us. To proving the doubters wrong. To building the lives we didn’t know we were allowed to want. To pushing through everything the world threw at us. To _us.”_

“To us,” the others echo, bottles and cans and glasses rising into the air. 

Louis takes a long drink, and it tastes like victory.

_Cause we made it…_

Louis stands at the lip of the stage, microphone in front of him, band behind him, looking out into the crowd, and _fuck_ if he hasn’t missed this. He can’t help the grin that slowly spreads across his face as he drinks it in -- not that he tries particularly hard. He sees a thousand smiles reflected back at him, and his heart thrums like it always does at the beginning of a show. Not with nerves -- not anymore, not in years. No, with joy.

That’s not to say he’s not nervous -- this is his first proper live performance as a solo artist, after all. It’s different, unlike anything he’s done since -- well, before X Factor, really. He wants it all to go right.

But he’s not afraid. He knows he’s worked his arse off for this, he knows that everyone in the crowd is rooting for him, and he knows that he’s going to give them exactly what they’re here for. The tingles of nerves just feel like electricity, making everything sharper and brighter and _more._ He wants more. He wants everything he can get, and everything he can give.

He finds his eyes catching people in the crowd, a connection that’s so momentary and yet so intense and personal. It feels like he sees into their souls, and shows them his in return. That’s what music is, he supposes. Sharing souls with strangers, and each asking the other person to take care of it.

And with each connection, he hopes they understand the words he keeps whispering to himself. 

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for staying. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for coming back. Thank you for caring. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

He keeps returning to that, even all these years later. He keeps being grateful, keeps being amazed at just how many people _care,_ and care so _much_. It had surprised him when they started on X Factor, it had surprised him afterwards, it had surprised him with each successive album and tour, it had surprised him when they went on hiatus, and it still surprises him now. In a different way, perhaps; it’s not astonishing in the same way anymore, when he’s seen it happen so many times, but it’s still… it feels so unexpected and bizarre. He’s just a guy. A boring, ordinary guy who got lucky. And yet these thousands upon thousands of people care so, so much -- about him, about his work, about his happiness. And they keep caring, through years of silence and delays and hardships. Their loyalty never wavered. He vows that neither will his. 

He’ll never stop feeling grateful. He’ll never stop feeling lucky. He’ll never stop feeling surprised. He never _wants_ to. The very idea of getting used to… _this_ … feels absurd. He’ll never get used to it. He’ll never stop thanking the people who got him here. 

Because nothing he’s done has been alone. Nothing One Direction ever did was theirs alone. It was always the fans at their backs, holding them up, watching videos or voting on awards or putting together amazing community projects. The fans were everything, made them everything they are. The fans built them from nothing, from five random idiots who just happened to fit together like an IKEA chair. Everything they’ve ever done, everything they’ve become, isn’t the product of one person or five people or a hundred people, but thousands -- millions, even -- working together, caring together, believing together.

When Louis looks out at them, he believes too. He believes in what they can accomplish, together.

_Cause we made it… Never coming down with your hand in mine._

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in about a week because I saw that "We Made It" only had one fic and I thought she deserved better. I love the flexibility of this song (and so many of Louis songs), how it can be interpreted to mean so many different things, but is still so specific in its details. It's brilliant.
> 
> You can check out the rest of the Walls Fic Fest contributions on Tumblr [here](https://wallsficfest.tumblr.com) or on AO3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WallsFicFest/works). There's some absolutely amazing fics there, so go take a look!


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